Penelope
by mychakk
Summary: On the night before his exile Sherlock made a promise to Molly that if she waits for him six months, he'll do everything he can to return to her from his suicide mission. There was no Moriarty's Broadcast and the six months deadline is coming to pass. Will he keep his promise to her? For lilsherlockian1975.


**Title: Penelope  
** **Characters/Pairings:** Sherlolly  
 **Genre:** Drama/Romance/Angsty  
 **Warnings: what-if  
** **Rating:** T  
 **Chapters: 1/1  
** **Status:** one-shot

 **Disclaimer** **:** I don't own **BBC Sherlock** nor the characters. Just playing with them. The parts in italics are from **lilsherlockian1975** story _Journeys_ chapter no 4. I don't own them either.

 **Summary:** On the night before his exile Sherlock made a promise to Molly that if she waits for him six months, he'll do everything he can to return to her from his suicide mission. There was no Moriarty's Broadcast and the six months deadline is coming to pass. Will he keep his promise to her? For lilsherlockian1975.

 **AN** _Hello!_

 _This one shot is dedicated to_ **lilsherlockian1975** _for encouraging me to write it myself instead of sending it to her as a prompt. It was actually inspired by her series_ **Journeys, chapter 4** _, parts in italics are direct quotes from that story. Honey, thank you for giving us your wonderful stories, may there be more in the future! :)_

 _This is un-beta'd. All mistakes on me. Please note, English is not my native language._

 _Now, onto the story, I hope you will all enjoy it!_

 **xxx**

 **Penelope**

 **xxx**

The Spring has come and went giving place to the hot and sunny Summer. The occasional rain cleansed the London's air while tourists doubled, and Londoners packed to leave for their holidays. Time went by and life went on.

Just not for a one woman.

As the days on the calendar passed, the dreaded deadline of the six months neared. And one Molly Hopper experienced way too much on the emotional rollercoaster that has been the past few months of her life.

Almost six months ago, shortly after Christmas, her deepest dreams and nightmares cumulated in one evening of fullest happiness and cutting sorrow. In the most heartwarming and heartbreaking way the love of her life has finally opened up to her, only to be torn away in the morning and shipped to the East Europe for an upcoming suicide mission.

Just the mere memory of that precious evening and night broke her heart and made her shiver. But she made a promise and she will keep it. Not only till the deadline. No, she felt she'll keep it till the end of her life.

 _Six months, Molly, give me six months, before you move on._

How can she ever move on from him? Hadn't she tried this the last time? Hadn't she given herself the pick-up talk back then, convincing herself he may never return after his faked death, and even if he did he may still not choose her? That it was wisest to move on and live the life she was meant to have?

But little good it did her back then!

She tried to move on, she really did. She dated, she even got engaged. And even _without_ any promise from him back then, even without any _memory_ to sustain her hope, it was not enough to make her truly move on. She was his, she has always been, and she knew she always will be.

 _After six months go find yourself a nice boring man and have lots of little Molly-looking babies and be happy without me._

Be happy.

Without him!

She didn't think it was possible.

And she knew she didn't ever want to find out if she could.

But she might not have a choice. Any day now-

The enormous anxiety washing over her sometimes was _too much_. Her breath cut off as she struggled with the idea of never seeing him again. Never hearing the banging of the Morgue doors as he barges in, demanding to see the latest victim; never smelling him as he leaned over her shoulders while the experiment she has been conducting for him concluded before their eyes; never hearing him shooting deductions after deductions at her and all unsuspecting bystanders; never feeling his arms around her…

Anyway, most of the time she was optimistic.

She really tried to be as she had to.

 _Please look after Mrs. Hudson for me._

So she did.

With a smile and kind words she visited the Old Lady regularly and shared an afternoon tea with her. They went shopping sometimes. And if Mrs. H. was a little surprised at first, she, nevertheless, quickly embraced her into her regular social circle.

She even frequently kept in touch with the Watsons, all three of them. She quickly learned they had no clue of the true character of Sherlock's mission. They lived in a happy bubble of awaiting for his return – just a standard mission for the Government.

She has never felt more out of place than when she visits with John and Mary nowadays.

But she did it because she cannot bear the thought of bringing the burden of anxiety and guilt on the happy little family that Sherlock gave up everything for. Sometimes she wishes she could hate them for what they have and she doesn't. For what could have been hers if only-

But she suppose she's not like that. And so she enjoys dinners with the adult Watsons, cuddles with the littlest one, and regularly shares afternoon tea with Mrs. H. And she smiles and reminisces with them and pretends that inside she's not bleeding and dying with each passing day as the dreaded date comes closer and closer.

 _Please give me one chance to come home._

She did.

She hopes she has given him thousands of thousands chances to come home.

She's waiting.

She's believing.

No.

She's _sure_.

He'll be back. He said he'll do everything in his power to get back to return home, to return to her and she knows there is nothing he can't do. If he has set his mind to something he'll get it done and she'll have him within her arms once more.

He'll be back.

 _Don't date Gordon Lestrade._

As if she ever wanted! And it's Greg.

She liked the guy. A lot actually. They were friends, easy comrades sharing a mutual exasperation for the same brilliant man and sharing an easy going friendship of mutual interests and characteristics. But she's never felt anything more toward him. Oh, she knew he found her attractive and if she only made a slight indication of interest in him, he'll probably seize the opportunity right away. At least that was the case in the past. Now she feels Greg knows there won't be any place for other men in her life than _him_.

She was glad for it. It was one less suitor to politely let down.

Some of her friends didn't understand her recent choices. How could they? _No one_ knows what has truly happened that night. And no one ever will. It was _their_ night and it's the most precious memory she has, she'll not taint it by spilling it to her gossiping – even if generally liked by her – friends.

But that leaves them with the impression they can set her up with every available guy they know.

They can't!

 _I know what I said, but if you wait for me I will do everything in my power to come back to you, I swear to you that I will try._

Of course she'll wait.

Even if he hadn't asked her she would be waiting for him till the day she die.

And so life went on, as she was suspended in time. But that was her choice. And it didn't really matter as long as he came back.

She was the modern Penelope awaiting the return of her Odysseus.

 _The truth is you are the only thing that can actually bring me home._

There was a knock on the doors to her apartment. It was a late hour and she wasn't expecting anyone.

She looked at the calendar and at The Date so close to pass now.

No.

The knock was repeated and tentatively she got up from the couch she has been spending many evenings on lately. Her heartbeat accelerated, breaths shortened as she neared the doors. Could it be? Is it-? But what if-?

She looked through the peephole and-

Mycroft Holmes stood before her.

No.

Her knees weakened, as her breath hitched. With trembling arms she sagged against the door, looking for support.

No.

Please, no.

This couldn't be-

"Oh, for Lord's sake, move!" She heard a scuffle and a mumbled yelp from the other side. "Molly! Open up, it's me!"

She's hearing voices, passed over her mind as she tried to calm down her hyperventilation.

"Come on, Molly!" There was more banging on the door. "I know you are in there. I know you're standing on the other side of the door and I won't knock it out with you there."

"As if you could anyway!" She heard Mycroft Holmes state disdainfully.

"Sherlock?" She whispered disbelievingly, looking up at the closed door separating her from-

"Who else? Will you make me wait outside the whole night?" He sounded whizzed and exasperated.

And oh, so familiar and _real!_

Within the next beat of the heart she scrambled to open the doors. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the chain but finally she managed to unlock it and swing the doors wide open.

And here he was.

Well, beaten up, thinner than he was after his return from death almost two years ago, and being supported from the side by a government agent, bet here he was.

He looked awful.

His bright eyes twinkled as he gazed at her and a soft smile played on his lips.

He was the most beautiful thing she has ever seen in her life.

"Hello, Molly." His smooth baritone was like a balm on her bruised and hurting psyche.

One of her hands shot up to her mouth as a sob escaped her throat. She took a tentative step toward him, her other hand stretched out to touch his face.

"Sherlock?" She whispered his name reverently.

He smiled at her gently. "I knew you would wait for me."

Tears filled her eyes as she smiled in return. "I would have waited my whole life for you."

The look on his face become somber as he took a small step toward her, leaving the support of the agent. "Even if it would have taken me my whole life, I would have come back to you." He vowed gravely.

"I know." She nodded, tears spilling out. "I always knew that."

He moved his arms to embrace her and she sank into his chest. He whimpered in pain but when she tried to untangle herself from him, him arms tightened their hold on her, keeping her as close as possible.

"I love you." He said into her hair. "I'll spend the rest of our lives telling and showing you that."

She sobbed once more against his chest. "I love you too, I love you so much. Thank Lord, you are home."

"I am. I am finally home."

Standing on the side, watching the scene with an unreadable expression, Mycroft Holmes allowed himself to show a ghost of a smile around his mouth.

Never before was he so glad to be wrong.

And, not only about his estimation of the outcome of a government mission, no! Never before was he so gald to be wrong of the role _love_ plays in one's life.

He can concede.

Caring can – and this case: _was_ – an advantage.

 **xxx**

 **End**

 **xxx**

 **AN:** _Hope you enjoyed. :)_

 _All reviews are greatly appreciated. This was my first Sherlolly one-shot._

 _Hopefully, until next time!_


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